


Full House

by junes_discotheque



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Cannibalism, Children, Domestic, Family Bonding, M/M, minor daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/pseuds/junes_discotheque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal collects budding cannibals. Will collects stray dogs. They've become a family of sorts, living in an old plantation house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full House

It's a quarter past nine in the evening. The cicadas are making an ungodly racket, and the lightning bugs are out in force, illuminating the tall grass outside the house on the hill. It's an old plantation house, complete with a graveyard around back, and a local legend proclaiming a terrible curse on the house.

Of course, Hannibal Lecter had not been able to resist.

Abigail prides herself on being the one to bring the property to Hannibal's attention. Large enough to house them all, with room to spare for any new additions to their family; a convenient place to hide mishaps (though Hannibal has rather taken to Abigail's philosophy and so these days far fewer of their hunts are murder); and enough foreboding to keep curious townspeople away.

Will's dogs are an extra bonus. She sees him on the other side of the long veranda, perched on the stairs, surrounded by his dogs. He's collected an even dozen now, all shapes and sizes and colors, and all are viciously protective of Will. They are wary of Hannibal, but if any strangers come near, they attack. They treat the children in the same manner. At night, they curl up in Will's room.

He is petting them absently, moving his hands while the dogs jostle to nudge their heads under Will's fingers. He stares into the distance. Will doesn't talk much, these days; and when he does, it is only to Hannibal. He hadn't been strong enough, Abigail knows. If he had only been strong enough, he could be hunting alongside her, teaching the children, rather than staying here. And Hannibal could go with them more instead of taking care of Will. Not that Abigail resents her role, but she thinks controlling a bunch of unruly teenage boys with a taste for human flesh might be easier with one of them at her side.

She checks her watch again. Half-past nine. She knocks on the screen door.

Jonah sticks his head out. He's covered in freckles, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes, and he might be handsome in a few years after he's grown into his body. As it is, he's a gangly fourteen-year-old, and though his rage puts all of them to shame, he can't aim for shit.

“Is it time?” he asks.

Abigail nods. “Get the others. No, wait—Marianne and the twins.”

Jonah disappears back into the house. He joined up shortly after Abigail began hunting with Hannibal, shortly after she faced what she really was and became who her father had meant her to be. The twins, not long after that. Marianne's new, newer than Kevin but not quite as new as Luke or Brad. Those two... Well, there's still a lot of work to be done before they're ready to hunt.

With their sharp, slim knives placed up the sleeves of their dark jackets, and the laces of their boots tied tight, they are ready. They pass Will on the way out, and Marianne clings to Abigail's arm. Her pale braids bounce as she walks.

“Why doesn't Dad come with us?” she whispers. Abigail pets her hand.

“Dad isn't like you,” she says. “He's not strong.”

“Don't be silly. I'm not strong. Not like Jonah.”

“Marianne, Father took you for a reason,” Abigail says. “He saw something in you. I saw it, too. And trust me—me and you are stronger than all our brothers _combined._ ”

That gets her a smile, and Marianne drops her head onto Abigail's shoulder.

They continue on into the night.

~ * ~

“Will, it's late.”

Hannibal's voice is soft, floating on the gentle summer breeze, and Will shivers. “A moment longer,” he pleads. “I want to make sure they return safely.”

“They will.” Hannibal places a hand on Will's shoulder and squeezes. “You missed dinner.”

“I always miss dinner.”

Hannibal sighs. “Please come inside. I'll reheat the rest of that telemarketer you enjoyed so much.”

Despite himself, Will licks his lips. “Really?” He looks up at Hannibal. The man's face is like a skull in the flickering yellow porchlight, the deep crevasses of his cheekbones and his sunken eyes draped in black.

“Really, Will,” Hannibal says, nodding.

“Can't we eat out here?” he pleads. “It's so nice.” He leans in and rests his head on Hannibal's leg, wrapping an arm around his knees, and he knows in an instant he's won. Hannibal may own him now, may have consumed his soul, but Will still has power over him. It's not much, but it wins him some favors from time to time.

“Very well,” Hannibal sighs. Will beams up at him and goes back to petting his dogs. They seem much more relaxed now that the children have left, and while they still seem suspicious of Hannibal, Will has assured them that Hannibal takes care of him now; he needs Hannibal; he loves him. He thinks the dogs understand. They've never tried to take a chunk out of Hannibal, anyway.

He tries to drift back into his head, but the spell is broken. He worries now, for their children—the children he never sees, never speaks to, but that Hannibal adores. His legacy. One day they'll be unleashed upon the world, and start their own families, and Hannibal's influence will resonate on every continent, in every city, striking fear into the hearts of the masses. It's hard to believe they're still just _children_.

“How is she?” Will asks when Hannibal returns with a bowl. 

He doesn't have to ask who Will is talking about. “She is well,” Hannibal says. “She likes to sleep in the garden and wake to the stars.”

“She tried to take me from you,” Will says, then lets out a soft cry. “Please, please don't let her—”

“Hush,” Hannibal says. He pulls Will in close and holds up a large chunk of braised telemarketer to Will's lips. He opens obediently. “She failed. Your false friend will never touch you again, my dear Will.”

Will moans as he chews, swallows, nuzzles against Hannibal's neck. Hannibal continues to feed him. It has been months since Will touched a fork, and longer since he fed himself. Hannibal never forced this upon him; Hannibal never forces him to do anything. He merely suggests, and helps Will through the difficult decisions, until he comes at the proper conclusion.

After all, it is so important to please Hannibal.

~ * ~

Marianne learns to fillet. Abigail's hands are warm and strong against hers as she directs the knife, and Marianne feels dizzy with delight when Abigail announces that she has done perfectly.

“I want to make something for Dad,” Marianne says.

“Not for Father?”

Marianne shrugs. “None of our brothers ever go near him. Even you stay clear of him.”

“He killed my first father,” Abigail says. “I'm over it, it was a long time ago and now I have Dad and Father, but... I don't know. I think Hanni—I think Father did something to him.”

The way she slips up does not go unnoticed, but Marianne is not stupid. Neither are her brothers. They all know Abigail only calls them Dad and Father for the sake of her siblings; that in her head, she uses their real names. She doesn't ask. Abigail's not like them, after all. Father is grooming her to lead.

“Still,” Marianne says. “All he has is those dogs, and Father. I might—I think he could use someone else, don't you?”

Abigail shrugs. “He doesn't like strong food,” she says. “And don't do anything too complex.”

“Thank you,” Marianne says. Abigail leaves, and she returns to her cooking. The boys can have the other cuts; this one will be for Dad, and as she has only ever seen Father take his meals with Dad in his room, she supposes it will be for him as well.

~ * ~

“Marianne is a wonderful cook,” Will says. Hannibal tips the bowl up and allows him to lick the sauce from the bottom. “She is coming along nicely.”

“She and Abigail both. It's a pity psychopathy of this nature more commonly occurs in boys. My sons may be vicious, but they're stupid at best and dangerous at worst. Dangerous to me, I mean.”

Will runs a thumb over Hannibal's lips. “Please,” he whispers. “I—I need. I trust you.”

Hannibal rolls them over and straddles Will's hips. “Are you certain?”

He nods wildly. “Please. _Please_.”

“What do you call me?”

Will shudders. “Please, Father.”

Hannibal growls then, grabs Will by the ankles and spins him around on the bed so that his mouth is at Hannibal's cock. “Go on then,” he says. “Suck.”

Will's hands are frantic, jumping over the button and zip of Hannibal's suit pants, and he fumbles a bit getting his cock out, but the moment the head pokes through the fine fabric, Will has his mouth on it.

Hannibal jerks a little in surprise, which delights Will, and then he feels a mouth on his own cock and he groans. The danger in doing this strikes him, that Hannibal has Will's flesh in his mouth but does not bite. He wonders if it is the same in Hannibal's mind, if Hannibal knows how Will desires nothing more than to _consume_. 

He must; it is Hannibal's design, after all.

He licks and sucks, rubbing his hand along Hannibal's balls, and feels his actions mirrored and performed on him. If he does not bite, Hannibal will not bite; he must trust this.

Later, Will is curled in Hannibal's strong arms, and there are dogs sleeping on the floor, and the children are snoring in their beds. The taste of come is still heavy on his tongue, and he has never been more at peace.


End file.
